My Son
by Dragonanzar
Summary: Potter is dead. The vanquishing army is arrayed behind their leader, Voldemort. Lucius considers his son. Set during the last film. Follows canon.


My Son

I scan the cloud of black robed figures, spattered with red blood and grey masonry dust. There! My son's white-blond hair, identical to that of my own, stands out like a beacon among the dark colours around him. He looks as shocked as any around him to see Potter's dead body being carried by the half-beast. I wonder why? Surely he has never doubted that the Dark Lord would win?

I glance around myself with new eyes. We are the victors, the vanquishing army made of the pinnacles of perfection; the purebloods. Of course, I do not consider Greyback amongst our number…nor, I suppose, Bellatrix for all that she is my wife's sister. Our Lord…well, he is not really human, but then if he were human, he would not be any more than a powerful wizard. As he is now shows how much he has moved away from his humbler origins.

I never doubted him. Truly. Oh, I admit that I wavered minutely when he seemed to fall for the first time. Of course, I knew that he would be back. No one that powerful could die so easily. Though, perhaps it would have been better for my family if…. No, I must not think such things. I cast a glance at the Dark Lord standing before us, embracing the crowd of rebels, his bald pate shining in the flickering flame light.

He seems distracted by those before us, but one never knows…. I gained a position at the Ministry of fools, advisor to the odious, yet biddable, Fudge. It was all for my briefly fallen master. I say that in all honesty. Indeed, My only desire in pleading Imperius was to be in a position of power once my master returned. I have convinced myself, and others, of this.

The Dark Lord is powerful and great. He has saved us from the onslaught of the mudbloods. It is due to him alone that the pureblood's rightful place in society has been retaken. Yet…. No. If ever there was a time to deceive myself it would be now; on the eve of his success, the Dark Lord must not suspect treachery, even in one's innermost thoughts.

My wandering attention is drawn back to the plebeian crowd by a shout. Ah, the Weasel girl has seen her love's body. I sneer. How terrible. I see my old enemy, Arthur Weasley, staring at the corpse with a deep pool of anguish in his eyes and etched into his features. I suppose he always considered Potter like a son.

My son. His expression puzzles me. It is betrayal and hate and sadness and victory, all in one. He is looking at the body and then he looks at me. Our gazes lock. I see the wavering in his eyes, the remnants of the innocence which the past year has shattered.

Ah, Draco. My son. My poor son. I did not want this for him. I did not want his innocence shattered, his faith broken. He should see me as a loving father who wants only the best for him, not a monster wearing a familiar form who thrusts him into the forefront of conflict.

But then, that is what I have always done; looked out for his best interests. During school I stood up for him, provided him with the power he craved, gave him the monetary aid that he required to keep up his reputation. Then, when the Dark Lord returned, (as I always knew he would) I saw an avenue for his future power. Now, that is realised.

I even tried to keep him out of the thick of things; I did not bring him forward to be marked, I never did, being in Azkaban the day it happened. I let him live his childhood under my protection until I was unable to protect him any longer.

I return my far-away thoughts to the present. The Dark Lord has made a speech; I catch only the last few words as he beckons forwards those who are willing to follow his regime, and live. To my astonishment, no one moves. I make eye contact with my son and, to my enduring bemusement, see him _considering _it.

There should be no consideration involved. The Dark Lord has called to those who wish to live, to thrive, to stand beside him. Draco should be at the forefront of the pressing crowd, not wavering between following the order or not!

"Draco!" I call to him, remind him on which side he belongs. A decision is forming in his eyes, yet I cannot tell which one it is. "Draco, Don't be stupid!" I reprimand him in my best father's voice. Narcissa adds her own entreaty and, thankfully, the boy seems to move.

I watch as the Dark Lord embraces him, noticing the odd stiffness in Draco's manner. I understand his reluctance; the Dark Lord is not the most aesthetically pleasing of bodies, yet I thought I had taught him enough not to show such dismay openly.

He comes to stand in front of me and I place a hand on his shoulder. He is here.

My son, you do not realise, perhaps, but everything I did was for you. For your future, for your good, for you.

A/N Ah, I do like Lucius' character, though I find it quite difficult to write. Just a little plot-bunny that came into my head soon after watching the last film. I hope you enjoyed!


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